3 Wardens
by Walking-One
Summary: or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Darkspawn!  3 Wardens learn how to live after the Blight. There truly is more to life than killing and swooping! M rating to save trouble changing it later! Amell/Cullen, Cousland/Anders & Alistair/Morrigan
1. Chapter 1

(Author's note: AU due to changes in how many wardens survived the Joining in Ostagar, and slight changes to when things happened and how. DA Origins only, possible spoilers but not likely since it takes a very different path. Also, there are 3 individual stories being told within this one, so each story may raise questions that the next segment will answer-hopefully! My first Dragon Age fanfic and my first fanfic at all, in a very VERY long time! Feedback welcome, as long as it's useful. 'I didn't like it" isn't useful, FYI. Most of the first segment is done, will update as frequently as possible if story goes over well. Enjoy! Also, I don't own Dragon Age or any of it's characters; OBVIOUSLY or I'd never have time to write it due to drooling over Cullen and Anders like ALL THE TIME!)

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><p>Part 1: The Broken Templar<p>

Neria Amell was very angry. Small sparks of electricity danced across her fingertips and lit up her widened blue eyes. A sudden blast of lightening crashed from her lanky form rumbling through the dark cellar. Nothing changed.

The lanky mage stalked forward, banging her small balled fists against the heavy stone door. No answer from beyond the room she occupied. A cry of frustration ripped from her throat as she flung herself into a heap on the cold stone floor.

Above her a battle raged. The battle,against the Archdemon and its horde of Darkspawn. She was supposed to be out there, with her friends and fellow Wardens, supposed to be fighting alongside them.

_Damn you Beth Cousland. Maker damn you!_ she thought to herself as the walls rumbled around her. Her sister Warden had asked her to see to a simple warding in the wine cellar before the battle began.

_Only a moment please, if you would._ She had said, gesturing to the dark stairs leading beneath the castle. _I'd handle it myself but I lack the necessary traits. I just need a ward set up to protect the lower levels, just in case we need to evacuate the castle.  
><em>

And the next thing she knew, Beth was sealing her inside, shouting profuse apologies before abandoning her in the depths of the castle.

If it had been anyone else, Neria would have said it was to take the glory of the kill. But after a year traveling with the young woman, she knew it was far worse.

Beth was wounded, broken inside. Only slightly older than herself, Neria considered the woman a sister. She cherished their friendship dearly, and tried so hard to mend the hurt her friend felt.

She'd seen her pain, knew how deep her anger and self loathing ran. Been witness firsthand to the way she threw herself recklessly into the fray of battle time and again. The woman had a death wish.

The mage knew that Beth intended to be the one to strike the final blow to the demon, ending her own life in the process. But she also knew Alistair had done something very bad last night. She'd heard him whispering with Morrigan in his room. When he'd seen her lingering near the door, he'd called her over and asked her to keep Beth as far away from his quarters as possible. Neria had seen the look in his eyes and did not ask questions, only did as he asked. That morning, he had not looked at either of them.

Neria sighed, dropping her head into her hands, resigning herself to this temporary prison. Long straight locks of raven hair fell over her face, hiding the angular lines and pale skin. She was half elf, on her mother's side. She'd never known her mother though, and held very few memories of her father. She'd gotten her lean frame and sharp features from her elven heritage and everything else from her father. Right down the the green eyes that had turned into an electric shade of blue after her joining. Alistair explained that sometimes happened.

Even though she'd barely seen 20 years of age, thin strands of white had begun to show in her hair, blending into the raven tresses mostly. Beth had once offered to help her color it, but Neria declined. Said she liked it, said it made her feel more mature.

Suddenly a blinding flash of light shot through the tiny window of the cellar, yanking Neria from her despondent reverie. She jumped to her feet, hands steadying herself against the wall as the castle shook, bits of crumbling stone falling from above her wooden wine racks creaked, glass spraying as several bottles exploded from the force. Neria screamed and resumed her assault on the door when everything suddenly fell eerily silent.

Two days later, the stone door inched open and Alistair appeared, deftly scooping a half conscious Amell into his arms. Her fists were still clenched, now bloodied and torn from scraping against the door for so long. Small bloody hand-prints marred the stone.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't know. Maker forgive me, I didn't know." He whispered soft reassurances and apologies as he carried her through the castle to her bedroom. Neria sighed and pressed into his embrace. Safety in his arms, he was always there to protect her. She drifted in and out as he laid her in her bed, the sound of servants bustling around her faded as she drifted into sleep once more.


	2. Chapter 2

3 months later

Neria roamed the castle hallways, lighting the torches that lined the walls. Alistair was in counsel and Anora had been abroad for weeks. Dog had wandered off hours ago and left her bored and feeling somewhat useless. "Castle adviser my arse." She mumbled tersely to herself.

Suddenly the ground vibrated as her mabari Dog came bounding down the hall towards her, a gauntlet in his mouth, a castle guard in tow. Wide eyed she braced herself for the inevitable tackle as Dog knocked her to the ground, mauling her happily. He dropped the armor as if presenting her with the finest gift in all of Fereldan. Devon, the young guard she often stopped to bother with random conversation on her daily wanderings, skidded to a stop just before tripping on them. "My lady!"

She was sprawled out, all limbs and robes and smelly dog. The Chasind robes she'd taken to after months in the rough were easier to maneuver in but far more revealing than her Tower robes. She realized this when she laughed and looked up to catch Devon in the act of gawking. She grabbed the hand he offered and helped herself up. Trying to readjust her robe to cover what bits needed covered.

He turned several shades of red and cleared his throat, stuttering out an apology. "My lady, I am sorry. I did not see you there. That hound took my gauntlet. I shouldn't have been running!" The one covered in drool still lying on the floor by her feet. "Maker, if the King saw that, he'd have my head!"

At that Neria burst into a tearful fit of laughter, doubling over at the thought of Alistair having anyone's head. Unless it was full of cheese. "No worries Devon dear, I do it all the time. I won't tell. I promise." She swiped at her eyes, seeing the guard visibly relax at her reassuring words.

He reminded her of someone else, a man from her past. Her Templar, the one with a stutter and an amazing smile. It made her stomach flutter. She quickly shoved away the memories of Cullen, smiling again at Devon. "Now then, I should resume my pointless wandering." She scooped up his armor and held it out."And I am merely a castle adviser, Neria will do fine. I am no lady anyway." She winked, strolling away and leaving one very flustered guard.

"Oh thank you my...er..Miss Neria."

-o-o-o-

"Absolutely not. There is no sodding way I will allow this. And frankly, I would have expected you of all people to understand!" Alistair was shouting. Neria had heard it all the way down the hall. Alistair never shouted. It was infuriating how calm he could be at times. She came to a stop outside his closed office door, easing closer to eavesdrop.

Dog cocked his head questioningly and she pressed a finger to her lips. She felt the rough surface of the door against her cheek as she strained to hear the other voices that had joined Alistair. One was clearly a woman and the other far too familiar. Suddenly her blood ran cold. It was Knight Commander Gregoir. She would know that voice anywhere.

Suddenly it was far too quiet and thoughts of the Tower ran through her mind. She was still a mage, at the end of the day. What if they had come to take her back? How far could she run before one of the Templars hunted her down. She ran her escape scenarios through her head, each one ending worse than the last. Maker she was screwed.

So lost in her own sudden panic was she, Neria never noticed the footsteps in the room or heard the hand on the door until it flew open and she went tumbling into the room and slammed into the iron wall that was Gregoir. A gasp from her left, she looked up to see a rather wry expression on Gregoir's face. His armored hands held her shoulders.

She coughed, glancing to the left to see Wynne, one slender brow arching as the older woman clearly fought to hide a smile."Neria Amell, just the person we wished to see." Gregoir released her and stepped back, allowing her to enter the room fully. Alistair was the only one not smirking. His arms were crossed stiffly against his chest, his jaw firmly set.

"I was..just passing by. Heard voices. Pardon me if I er...did you say you wished to see me?" Stumbling still over her words, wishing to be as far from this room as humanly possible, she tried to offer a sheepish smile. Her gaze shifted, seeking Alistair's cold stare for some reassurance from her dear friend.

Wynne was the one to ease the tension, moving to wrap her arm around the girl. "It is good to see you again dear, you are missed at the Tower. Please, sit down, we have some things to discuss."


	3. Chapter 3

Cullen felt unwell. He hadn't slept in months. Not since that night in tower, when his dreams had become nightmares, images of what he wanted and could never have. He'd told her, blurted everything in front of her and those with her, stupid stupid Cullen, he thought it was more torment. How could he have known?

And she'd looked so shocked, so hurt when he cut her with his words. When he said they all deserved to die. Surely she didn't think he'd meant her? Maker, he'd have given his life to take those words away and remove the look in her eyes. She'd bit back, hurting in return. Is that who she was now? The Neria Amell he'd known - and loved, if this was a moment of honesty - was soft spoken and sweet, never not smiling and radiant in everything she did. Or had he been so blind that he never noticed the true Neria.

She'd told him to sod off, told him she should have left him to die in that cage. When she left with her friends, he wanted to follow. Wanted to tell her he didn't mean it, that it was the demons talking, the agony he had endured. Wanted to tell her he loved her.

But she was gone, she'd blown through like the wind, his savior and tormentor in one.

The Tower was rebuilding. Slowly. Wynne has assumed the job of First Enchanter in the wake of Irving's failing health. Too many had died and it seemed a hollow place now, the halls dark and empty. The screams of the dead still echoed in each step.

If sleep was impossible, waking hours were no better; he would drift off on watch and see visions of blood and gore everywhere.

Gregoir had cut his duties to a minimum, sending him to the boat dock for hours of pointless watch. Who was coming? No one wanted to be at the Tower, not even those that lived within it's walls. Cullen stared out over the water and let his mind wander.

He'd seen her through the cage, that version of Neria would be eternally burned into his mind. The demon had come to him, tormented him with promises of things he could never have. Amell in his arms, in his bed, his mage to love. She'd whispered sweet affections in his ears, then poisoned him with her touch. He'd seen her burn, bleed, die a thousand ways and come back to bring him to the edge of madness. But he had resisted; he knew it wasn't her. She felt wrong, and smelled wrong and her voice was hollow compared to the real thing.

And then she'd been real, there, blushing as he gushed the truth. She'd looked into his eyes and promised she would save him. He'd wept for her. This would be the same, she'd feed him lies until he was at the edge and then let him fall over again Let him die a little more inside. And then she had returned, just as she promised; because, after all she was real. Flesh and blood, his Amell. She'd saved the mages, and him. She'd saved the Tower. And then left him to his own madness.

Something stirred in the bushes behind him, drawing him from his painful memories. Cullen jumped to attention, drawing his sword as he approached the noise. Two young apprentices stumbled out, eyes wide in fear as they ran into the knight. Cullen lurched forward, grabbing the one by the arm as the other stumbled back. What are you doing out here? You know no one is allowed outside the tower right now. Especially not at night!

The girl stammered, trying to pry his fingers from her arm. They dug in deeper, reddening her pale skin as he hauled her to her feet. We were just collecting elfroot for a potion. I swear Ser, we didn't mean to get in trouble. The other girl was gawking, eyes wide and mouth open. Her eyes, they bored into him. Cullen couldn't think straight. She looked like the others, the ones with Uldred.

There was blood on her arm, he glared. A long cut down the inside. She stammered something about it not being what it looked like, but all Cullen saw was the blood. The other girl was trying to explain something about rose bushes. Both girls looked very very frightened.

"Blood mage!" Cullen scowled, shaking his head. She was trying to trick him. They both were. How dare you! I will not let you take any more lives! A scream pierced the air, Cullen felt something warm and sticky on his hands. On his face. Someone was crying and whispering. He looked down. At his feet, a crumpled form lay bloodied and still. His sword was bloodied too, still drawn.

You killed her! You killed her! It was just from the thorns, she didn't cut herself. We weren't doing anything! The other girl was screaming, running and then she too lay on the ground. They were so quiet, so still, Cullen couldn't stand the silence. It screamed in his head, threatening to drive him mad. His sword forgotten on the ground, he backed away, shaking his head. No..no no no no...oh Maker no. What have I done? Stumbling on his feet, he rushed away, headed for the boat tied at the shore.

-o-o-o-

Neria felt unwell. She bent over the edge of the chair, wrapping her arms tightly around her knees. Her chest was too tight, not enough air in the office. Alistair was looking at her strangely, she was pretty sure she was an unpleasant shade of pale. She was also pretty sure she might being throwing up in the immediate future.

"Dear, I know this is upsetting but I thought it better you know. At least this way you can be prepared." Wynne gently rubbed her back in a small circular motion, her motherly nature familiar and comforting. Alistair was still frowning.

"I think - I think I am - oh yeah, definitely gonna be sick." Neria lurched from the chair, stumbling across the room to barely reach the large flower pot there before breakfast made a swift reappearance. Funny, she didn't remember eating eggs.

Alistair groaned, making an unpleasant face before crossing the room to kneel beside her, pulling her hair back from her face. "See what you've done? Haven't you taken enough from her? Is there still more pain she should endure?"

Neria stared at the wall, trying not to look at the contents of her stomach currently in the soil of the planter. It might make things worse. The smell was bad enough. And oh dear, some got in her hair. That was disgusting. She wretched, trying to keep it down, and then lunch joined breakfast. Alistair sighed, holding her as she emptied her stomach of every meal she'd had in the last few days. Andraste's knickers, but those Wardens ate alot!


	4. Chapter 4

The two women gathered in the cozy sitting room, warming by the fire. After excusing herself to clean up and wash off the smell, Neria had joined Wynne for a private conversation. Alistair had needed convincing to leave them alone, but Gregoir seemed more than happy to avoid any more dramatic scenes. Neria knew there were things that needed said, things only another woman would truly understand.

"So how exactly did he get my phylactery? I thought it was sent to Denerim after I passed my Harrowing." She'd worn one of her longer robes, she knew how Wynne felt about the Chasind ones she now preferred. The older mage was rather old fashioned, which was one of the things Neria adored about her. Their travels during the Blight had given her the chance to get closer to the enchanter, the closest thing she had to a mother it seemed.

Wynne struggled with the right words, trying to avoid alarming Amell further. "Apparently he's had it since the battle with the Archdemon. You might not have known, but he was among the Templars that came to help in the fight. I advised against it, I know Gregoir thought it would help but he was already unstable. After everything that happened..." Wynne's words trailed off as she left the rest unsaid. "The Chantry didn't even have a record of his visit. It was pure luck we spoke to one of the young sisters recognized his description. She said she had personally taken him to the chamber, he said it was in regards to an apostate he was hunting. In all the confusion after the battle, she didn't give it a second thought."

"I see." What else was there to say, then. Cullen had murdered two mages and fled the tower. With the one thing that connected him to her no matter where she went. No matter how far she ran, he could find her. And he would. He was angry and unwell, and now there was no one around to reign in him. The last conversation they'd had ended rather harsh. She winced at the memory of her words, lashing out when he wanted the mages dead. How could he help it? After what he'd endured, of course he was angry and scared. Weeks with no lyrium and no hope, she was amazed he'd held on as long as he did.

And now he was out there alone, scared, broken and lost. But Wynne had a plan. A very very good plan.

-o-o-o-

"Absolutely not! I will not allow it!" Alistair glowered, but Neria could only bite back a grin. No matter how angry or upset he seemed, he could never be scary to her. He'd always be goofy wonderful Alistair, the one that loved cheese and once told her how he was raised by dogs. Plus, she'd seen him in his smallclothes.

"I'm pretty sure I didn't ask your permission Alistair. I only told you because I didn't want you wondering where I was." She crossed her arms against her chest, huffing in irritation. "You are my friend, and I love you dearly but in this matter, I will not be swayed."

"Well I can - have you locked up in the dungeon. I will. I will carry you down there myself, kicking and screaming if necessary." He matched her stance and her huff, trying to be intimidating. She leveled a cool gaze at him, narrowing her eyes for the full effect. It worked. He sagged, pouting as he sulked about the room while she packed. She tried not to grin.

Eventually he came to sit on the edge of her bed, helping her fold the few clothes she needed and rolls the blankets and pillow so they fit in her small pack. She balanced a few potions and salves in her hand, all things to have on hand just in case of an emergency. Dog lay by the door watching the entire thing with mild interest. All he knew was that soon they would be on the road again, and Dog loved being on the road.

"You have feelings for the Templar..don't you?" Alistair tugged at a stray thread on her blanket, trying to avoid her gaze. He remembered the things the man had said, when they found him in the Tower. How Neria had looked when she found him. He'd never seen her react that way to anyone else. She'd cried at night in her tent, when she thought no one else was awake.

Neria wasn't sure how to respond, but her silence said it all. Alistair nodded, she didn't need to say anything else. "Well then, I guess you have no choice eh? That explains your attraction to me. The whole ex-Templar thing." He smirked, and she relaxed, rushing over to hug him.

"Please don't worry. I will return, and reasonably intact. I promise!" He held her tight, as if she might fade away once he let go.

"If you don't, I will never forgive you Neria Amell." He whispered against her neck, his face buried in her hair. He loved her like a sister, one that loved him back, and after losing Beth he wasn't sure he could survive losing Neria.

Placing a gentle kiss to his brow, she smiled and scruffed his hair playfully. Moving away from him, she stood in front of her mirror, scrutinizing herself. "Help me with something?"

-o-o-o-

Alistair watched from his bedroom window, as Neria crossed the courtyard with her horse and Dog in tow. The small pack she'd taken was strapped to the horse, and she used her staff as a walking stick. She'd abandoned the robes completely, choosing to travel light with a knit tunic and leather pants. Her boots were well worn, they had been Beth's before she disappeared.

Gone was the long raven hair she'd had since he first met her. At her request, he'd helped her cut it short, just above her shoulders. She'd braided the front-most part, tying it behind to pull it from her face. He hadn't thought she could be more beautiful, but he was wrong.

She cast one glance back at the window, waving to him before mounting the horse and riding out of town with Dog racing along beside her. Alistair stared until she became nothing but a dot on the horizon.

"If you hurt her Templar, I will find you and death will be a relief after I'm finished..."


	5. Chapter 5

Cullen had been on the road for days. The small supply of lyrium he'd stolen was gone and everything was clouded in a drugged haze. He'd been hearing voices and sleep was unattainable. But he had a purpose. He had to focus.

Neria's phylactery had begun to hum, her magic was music to his ears. The first signs of her movement had been just outside Denerim. He'd camped in the woods, the rumor of her living in the castle had been too much to ignore. But now she was leaving, he could feel the tug in his chest.

He followed. Somehow he kept putting one foot in front of the other, the simple act of walking now on autopilot. Somewhere along the forest path from Denerim, he found the remains of Templars. Cullen took a sword, the only thing of value. The bodies had already been looted of everything else of use. He wiped the sword slowly along the hem of the dead man's robe, muttering curses. The previous owner was no longer in need of it.

Images of the dead mages flashed in the back of his mind. He pushed himself, to the verge of exhaustion, following Neria's magic. He was resolute, he knew what he must do. Neria; she was the reason everything fell apart. It had always been her.

When he first met her, he remembered how green her eyes had been. He'd been only a boy himself. Tall and awkward, he stuttered every time she talked to him. But Neria never seemed to notice. She'd been grace and perfection, juts the simple act of walking across a room left him breathless.

He remembered standing over her during her Harrowing. Remembered the way his fingers twitched against the hilt of his sword at every moan and gasp she made. Remembered the way Gregoir watched him not the mage, as if he could read his thoughts.

And then she was awake, smiling, perfect still. He'd carried her to her new room in the mage quarters, remembered her murmuring softly as he tucked her into her bed. The briefest of touches, as her hand slipped across his, sent a charge of white hot energy to the core of his being.

He remembered conversations in the hall, her sweet words and his stuttered replies. He'd fled, ashamed of how she made him feel. Remembered watching her fall to the ground when Jowan unleashed blood magic in the Tower. Watching her sob as the Grey Warden led her away. Remembered how her eyes met his and he felt his heart break.

And then Ostagar fell. She was dead, that's how the gossip went. Soon though, matters regarding the Blight fell to the wayside, as the tower fell to blood magic. But she was alive. Somehow. And saved them. And abandoned them again.

Blood magic. Neria. His mind had been circling the idea for weeks. Had she been their savior? Or had she damned them the night she helped Jowan? The fog in his brain wouldn't let him see reason, it whispered of death and secrets, blood magic and his love. She was a corruption. An abomination. He must kill her. Only then could he be free.

Cullen walked on.

-o-o-o-

It was a full day's ride to Soldier's Peak, but Neria couldn't risk camping for the night. She had no idea how close Cullen might be to her location. Or just how bad his condition could be. Gregoir said he'd taken almost a week's worth of lyrium with him, but if he was double dosing he could already be experiencing the first symptoms of withdrawal.

Cullen had been taking lyrium for almost 6 years, starting when he was only 16 and first took his vows. Most Templars didn't start showing signs of addiction until after the 10 year mark, so he had that in his favor. But if he'd been taking more than allowed, it would still be rough to bring him back. If he could even be brought back to this side of madness.

Dog kept pace easily, even running ahead to scout the road sometimes. Neria only stopped to relieve herself or water the horse, stretching her legs at every opportunity. Levi Dryden had told her once to stop by the small town just south of the Keep if ever she needed supplies or assistance. The Warden's had been using the Keep as a way-point ever since Neria and her companions had made it safe once more.

It had been dark almost 3 hours before she found herself in the massive stone courtyard of the Keep. Levi mentioned it had been weeks since the Orlesian wardens had passed through, and with the onset of winter, no more would be expected for months. He'd also loaded her up with extra blankets and torches, promising not to come check on her; per her request of course. Official Warden business, she'd told him, the skeptical look in his eye saying more than any words ever could. But he let her go with a hearty pat on the back.

The halls of the Keep were shadows and night, she began lighting and anchoring the torches she'd brought immediately, as she ascended the massive stone steps. She laid a path to the barracks, lighting the way and then warding each area as she went. These were not traps, merely early warnings if another was present.

Once she was certain of her security, Neria began to drag buckets of water from the well to bathe before bed. She used more magic to heat the water, her signal fire to Cullen should he be close. Then she sank into the steaming pool and washed away the grime of the road.

Dog had taken a spot beneath the bed she'd dumped their things upon, and sniffed the air indignantly, as if to say hurry up, it's time for sleep. Scruffing the spot between his ears, he rolled and kicked a leg, settling back comfortably to watch her make the bed.

This place felt comfortable, despite the things that happened in it's past. The sleeping quarters reminded her of the apprentice quarters in the Tower. It made her homesick, even though Denerim was now her home. Or maybe not. Maybe Neria still hadn't found home. Maybe she never would.

The night air was cool but not yet cold. She'd dressed in a light gown for bed, brushing her hair before bed. Levi had warned the weather was still uncertain, some nights the temperature could drop to freezing and the next day it would be sunny and hot. Fereldan weather, never boring.

Curling beneath the mass of blankets, she rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. The silence spoke volumes. She listened to the sound of the wind and the call of a night bird. As sleep claimed her, she thought about Cullen. Tomorrow, she would begin watching for him, she would be ready. She would save him.

-o-o-o-


	6. Chapter 6

Neria awoke with a start. Something, or someone, had crossed a ward. The Keep had grown warm in the night, beneath the blankets her skin was clammy and damp from sweat. Her gown clung and in her sleep the braids in her hair had loosened, strands of hair now sticking to her forehead and the back of her neck.

She rose silently from the bed, tugging the mess of hair into a ribbon and prying her gown from her stomach and legs. Dog remained quiet, but looked up at her questioningly. His ears were back and he was crouched, ready to run forward at her command. Instead, she shook her head, motioning him to retreat further inside the room. He obeyed, but not happily.

She could feel him, closer now, his own Templar magic reaching out in the space between them. It sought her out, gathering around her like a cloak. She let the smallest amount of her magic slip out, intermingling with his, to lead him to her. She must face him on her terms, in her own space. She had to force him there.

He was fast, faster than she'd expected. Or maybe he'd been much closer the whole time, right on her heels and some how she hadn't noticed. So much for one night of solid sleep. Casting one more glance back at Dog, before moving into the hall, she closed the door to her room behind her. She heard the soft whimper from the mabari when she sealed him inside.

Cullen began to tug at her, his magic erratic and forceful. She could feel him trying to draw out her mana, steal her strength. She allowed it, her knees buckling slightly, her hand pressed to the cold stone wall for support. He was so close, she could smell him now. Lyrium tang and sweat and fear. It made her head spin.

He continued to draw her power until she felt him lower his guard. He would think her weakened now, unable to fight back. Only then did she act. There would only be one chance at this, one shot at gaining the upper hand. Drawing suddenly on her own magic reserves, she pushed it out in waves, flooding all her power into him at once. And Neria Amell was powerful, more than most realized. More than Cullen realized.

From the darkness - Maker he was close! - she heard him gasp, suddenly stumbling into the torchlight before her. He staggered, wide eyed and confused, falling to his knees with a groan. Neria moved lightning fast, she became part of the air around her as she moved towards him.

His appearance made her falter, but only for a second. She cast a stunning spell, it hit him like a brick wall. Knocked back on his ass with a grunt, she dropped to catch him as he fell backwards. For a moment their eyes met, his expression made her chest constrict. And then he crumbled to the ground and went limp.

"Oh Cullen..." She moved closer, kneeling beside him. He looked so tired, so weak and worn. This was not the young man she'd cared for, that had nursed an innocent crush on her for years, the one that stuttered and smiled and blushed too much.

His hair was shaggy, curly red locks now fell down over his ears and his forehead. His jaw was dusted with a week's worth of stubble, she'd never seen him anyway other than clean shaven. Neria reached up absentmindedly and stroked her fingers along his cheek. Beneath her touch, he groaned and stirred slightly.

Suddenly his hand shot out, capturing her wrist painfully in his grip. He rolled, lunging against her and pinning her to the stone floor beneath them. Thankfully he no longer wore his Templar armor, replaced with a rough linen shirt and leather breaches. She had never seen him out of his armor before. It seemed strange.

He trapped her wrists above her head in a tight grip, his free hand finding her throat. He gripped tightly, though not yet choking. Somehow he was holding back still, she could feel it in the faint tremble of his body against hers. Maker, this was him restraining himself? she thought as fear crept into her for the first time.

"Cullen, don't...please, let me help you. I can help you..." Her voice was a soft controlled whisper. He responded with a snarl as his fingers tightened around her throat. She coughed, struggling suddenly against him. She was beginning to think she'd made a horrible mistake, possibly the last of many many mistakes. That thought was a small consolation; perhaps he was too far gone and perhaps he would kill her.

"Cullen stop!" She cried out in pain when he dug his knee against her thigh, maneuvering himself closer, as he straddled her. She started to plead with him, her words halted swiftly with his mouth, suddenly against hers. Claiming it as he kissed her roughly, a desperate edge to the action.

He kissed her like she was water and he was drowning. His fingers slipped from her throat, curling against her face as he held it steady. She'd stopped fighting, too confused to find the appropriate response to this sudden change in his actions. He still gripped her wrists, but no longer did his fingers bite into the tender flesh there.

Neria inhaled, her lips parting against his as his tongue pushed forward and took space within her mouth. Only when his knee slid up between her legs, to the apex between her thighs, was she reminded of the thin gown she'd worn to bed and the small amount of control he was still trying to stiffened beneath him.

Cullen pulled away from her, no small feat in his present condition. He released her wrists and pushed himself onto the floor, trying to put as much space as possible between them. Neria scrambled back to the wall, crouching as she gasped for air.

They stared at one another, the first hints of a spell wavering in the air around her. His hand danced dangerously close to the hilt of his fallen sword. She broke the gaze first, glancing to the sword and inching back against the wall. When she moved, he did too, grabbing the sword and staggering to his feet. She jumped up, hands out before her.

Everything happened at once. He stalked towards her, destruction in his eyes. Her hands began to warm with a fireball spell but when he lashed out with his magic and stole hers, it flickered and died at her fingertips. "Cullen stop this now!" She hissed as she backed against the wall.

He lifted the sword, she closed her eyes. And waited.

The killing blow never came, and eventually she dared to open one eye. Found him standing there staring at her. The other opened, she arched her brow in question. Cullen made a strangled sound, something close to words, when her gaze caught his.

His jaw ticked and there was a slight flare of his nostrils, for just a moment, as he took a long shaky breath. And suddenly he flung his arm away from him, the sword clattering down the hall behind them. He didn't miss a beat, crossing the distance between them as his hands slammed against the wall, just above her shoulders. He searched her face, stripping away what remained of her resistance in the blink of an eye.

He shuddered and dropped to his knees, his arms wrapping around her waist as he buried his face against the flat surface of her stomach. He whispered, his words all warm breath muffled against her gown. His fists clenched, balling up bits of fabric as his hands shook slightly.

"Neria..."

His words were his undoing. He'd said her name, broken down the first wall he'd erected between them. She knelt and wrapped her arms around him as he began to sob.


	7. Chapter 7

Cullen woke to warm bands of sinlight spread across his body. Everything hurt. Even his teeth. How was that even possible? It was apparent he was somehow in a bed - a surprisingly comfortable bed, unlike the one he'd occupied in the Tower - and there was a heavy quilt wrapped around him. His shirt was gone, draped across the foot of the bed.

A noise near the window forced him to finally move. Cullen sat up slowly,carefully, amber gaze seeking the source of the sound. Curled up in a large chair beneath the window, wrapped in a matching blanket and sleeping peacefully, was Neria Amell. How own personal demon, his obsession, now close enough to touch if he liked. Which, in his most recent nightmares and fantasies, he had done that and more.

One slender arm slipped from beneath cover and he stared at the fading fingerprints bruising her wrist. A matching set ringed her throat. She looked tired, heavy dark rings lining her eyes and she was pale, more than he remembered. Cullen felt sick.

He sat up on the edge of the bed, staring at her in silence. The massive mabari on the floor gave him a look, an unspoken warning. Hurt her and you die human. They exchanged a knowing gaze, before Cullen nodded at the animal and tugged his shirt on slowly.

Bits of pieces of the last few weeks slowly started coming together in his mind. He remembered killing those mages, their blood seemed endless. Fleeing the Tower, escaping into the nightmare of lyrium withdrawal. He remembered taking it, too much, more than he ever had before. There was interaction with a sister at the Chantry, he had somehow gotten Neria's phylactery. He remembered tracking her, feeling the sweet seductive song of her magic through his pain.

He had seen demons everywhere, was convinced she was one too now. And he remembered finding her, attacking her, hurting her...kissing her. Maker, had he forced himself on her that night? The thought jarred him from the silent contemplation he'd fallen into, rolling his stomach again, threatening to empty any contents it might still hold.

As Neria stirred, Cullen stumbled from the room, needing air, space, anything to be away from his sins.

Neria awoke with a start. Just in time to catch the blur that was Cullen as he ran from the room. His heavy footsteps echoed down the hall.

"Cullen?" She stood and stretched, drawing the blanket around herself as she stroke from the room. Following his steps, she found him soon enough, occupying an empty room by the stairs. He knelt by the window, his face buried in his hands. Neria thought he was praying, but his voice was low and hoarse and shaky.

She stepped closer, the gentle touch of her hand to his shoulder caused him to stiffen suddenly, lifting his gaze to meet hers. She smiled, those familiar amber eyes looked like the Cullen she knew. He looked tired and had lost some weight, but the haze of addiction was gone.

He stared at her hand as if it was a demon, unable to stop looking the bruises on her wrist. She seemed oblivious, still smiling down at him. He pushed up from his crouch, rising to his full height and turning away, his back to her as he sighed softly. "Neria."

"I'm glad to see you up and around. How are you feeling?" Her soft voice and caring tone were like knives through his heart. Why wasn't she angry? She should be trying to kill him. She should have killed him while he slept. What he had done...

He shuddered when her thin arm wrapped around his waist, felt her step closer, the gentle rise and fall of her breathing against his back, he could feel the warmth of it on his neck. He was a head and a half taller than her, and outweighed her greatly. He could have killed her and never even broken a sweat. Images of the dead mages swam in the back of his mind, replaced by Neria on the ground, cold and broken and gone.

"I-I..." The words didn't come. How do you apologize for raping and an almost killing the woman you would gladly die for? Anything he could say would pale in the light of his crime. Somehow his hand found hers, fingertips brushing along the curve of her wrist, savoring the closeness, finding comfort in her touch.

"Cullen? Are you alright?" She was looking up at him now, those beautiful guileless eyes full of curiosity and compassion. Maker she was amazing. He turned his head to catch her gaze, guilt weighing heavily in his own eyes.

"Oh how stupid of me. You're probably starving!" Suddenly smacking her head, she pulled away and grabbed his hand, leading him behind her down the hall. "You've been out for over a week. The lyrium...it needed time to work through your system. You had me worried for awhile there, but I think the worst has passed."

Dumbfounded, he followed like a wayward child, noticing how warm her hand felt in his, how soft her touch was and how she seemed to flow along beside him like a spell wisp, all grace and casual beauty. Had her eyes always been so blue? Her hair, while shorter than when she'd saved the tower, was longer than he remembered that night not long ago.

There were thin strands of white amidst the black, braided into thick ropes that kept it from her face. He fought the urge to run his fingers through it, tangle it around them and tug her closer, kiss her, embrace her...  
>...kissing her roughly on the floor, his fingers around her throat, skin soft and bare, his knee between her legs, tears in her eyes...<p>

"Oh Maker Neria!" He stopped suddenly, , turning to face her. Before she could protest, he grabbed her and pulled her closer, his hands shaking now. "I'm so sorry..so sorry!" Her eyes were wide with confusion, but all he could do was stumble over his words, trying for some sort of explanation, apology..anything to make things right.

"I'm damned...damned. What I did to you, I deserve to die. Why did you stay with me? I-I don't deserve your compassion." He bent, burying his face against the feminine curve of her neck as she let out a strange sound of surprise and beneath that, something more. He could smell the scent of flowers and magic and he wanted her to hate him.

"Cullen...what are you talking about?"

He pulled back, grabbing her arm and holding it up to show her the bruises on her wrists. "What am I talking about? Really?"

"Oh. I mean, yes you were pretty messed up but you couldn't help yourself. Besides, I think you were holding back..I could feel it." Shrugging away from his grip, she let her hands fall to her sides, worrying her lower lip as she stared up at him. He took a step back, growling anger at her casual forgiveness.

"Held back? Look at you. I almost killed you. And I...what I did...to you...to violate you in such a manner. It is unforgivable Neria!"

"Violate me?" And then confusion gave way to slowly dawning realization as she snorted a soft laugh. Her cheeks flushed rose and she bit her lip nervously. "You mean when you kissed me?" The last two words escaped as barely a whisper, if he didn't know better he would think she was trying not to smile too much.

"That. And then after, when I..forced...myself on you. On the floor. I-I remember..." He spat each word out like a bitter pill, groaning in misery.

"Forced yourself on me? Cullen, what do you remember exactly?" When he furrowed his brow she did laugh finally. "You don't think you raped me, do you? Is that what you think happened?" Her laughter was agony, like broken glass and sunshine.

He was speechless, trying to recall more, to put the pieces into a picture. He remembered kissing her, fighting with her, pressing her to the cold ground..and he had assumed the rest. His face fell, his gaze shifting from hers in utter embarrassment. "I'm a sodding idiot..."

"I won't argue there. Now if you would like, I'll make us something to eat." Laughing again, she abandoned him outside the bedroom door, ambling down the hall as her song of magic caressed him in her wake. Cullen stared after her, feeling very small and silly and lucky to be alive.

(Author note: got a few more chapters already written out and the majority of the story finished in my head. But due to family issues coming up it may be a short time before more chapters are updated. I promise the story will be finished though, even if it takes me a little while to actually update! Thanks to everyone reading.)


	8. Chapter 8

Since her first visit to Soldier's Peak, Levi and his kin had done much to improve the place. The kitchen, while not fully stocked, held core supplies for cooking and surviving alone for awhile. In addition, Levi had stocked her on fresh food for her stay before she left the village. Of course, Neria was never a great cook. Her turn at dinner on their travels during the Blight had been ended after she almost poisoned Alistair.

Sifting through the dry goods in the pantry, she set upon the task of making something edible. Soon the room was filled with the scent of her rabbit stew...the only thing she made successfully. Dog trailed around catching scraps as she cleaned up and set a table for two.

Cullen appeared in the doorway, sniffing the air hungrily. It had been over a week since he'd eaten, which might explain the ravenous growling of his stomach. It rivaled the mabari's. Neria glanced up and smiled, gesturing to the stool she'd pushed up against the stone counter. He slid into the seat in silence, inhaling the scent of the soup she placed before him.

Neria sliced off a massive hunk of bread from the crusty loaf in her hand and handed it to him. "Eat up. There is plenty more where that came from." She sat down across from him, tossing a bit of bread to Dog before she started in on her stew.

Cullen was shocked to see how much she ate. He easily put away three big bowls and more than half the loaf of bread, and Neria matched him at every bite. He remembered a slip of a girl that barely finished her plate. Looking at her still lean figure, he wondered where she put it all? "Are you Warden's hollow?" He didn't mean to say it aloud, but the words tumbled out anyway.

Neria stared at him in silence for a second, just long enough to make him feel like an ass, then burst into a loud laugh, slapping the edge of the counter. "Ha you think I'm bad? You should have seen Alistair! That man once emptied the larder at the castle in a midnight food raid!" She flashed a wide smile and Cullen relaxed a bit, offering one back.

As they ate, she talked. About her travels, about the Darkspawn, about anything that filled the silence. Cullen contributed a bit to the conversation but mostly listened intently, trying to imagine the stories she told, and trying even harder to imagine her doing the things she described. She downplayed her every move, he could tell, but even in her humble version he knew how much she had done. How much she'd risked, all to save the land. To save him.

He still remembered that day in the Tower, how beautiful she'd been and yet how sad. Now he listened, realizing he was her confessor. It was the least he could do, allow her to finally empty out all the things she'd held within, the heavy burden she continued to carry from decisions she'd made.

Finally, when they had run out of food and stories, Cullen asked about that night. About what happened after he'd attacked her. He had to know, the fading flickering images weren't enough. He needed to make amends.

"You fell asleep, stayed that way most of the lyrium had you drifting in and out of consciousness mostly. Sometimes you would wake up, start talking, but I don't think you knew where you were." She left out the part where he tried to attack her again, or how she was forced to restrain him and run to the other end of the Keep just to avoid having him drain her mana.

"Last night was the first night you weren't restless, tossing and turning and feverish...I think the lyrium has mostly worked it's way through your system." She paused, and looked at him intently. "Do you feel any better?" When he nodded, she gave him a warm smile.

Cullen loved how her smile always creased up the corners of her eyes and lit her whole face up like the sunrise. It made his stomach lurch to think of ever hurting her. "I feel...different. Everything seems clearer." Cleaning his bowl with the last bite of bread, he sat back and smiled happily. "And thoroughly stuffed! That was amazing Neria. Thank you."

Neria slid from the stool, putting her almost empty bowl on the floor for Dog to finish. She moved to the window, slender hands resting on the counter as she stared out at the courtyard. "I think snow is on the way. I should get more wood. Just in case we need it."

Cullen moved to stand behind her, resting a hand on her shoulder. "I can do that." When she gave him a skeptical glance, he continued. "Please. I have spent the last few weeks in bed or in a haze. I need to do something to get my strength back right?"

Together they walked to the courtyard in silence. Cullen marveled at how natural it felt, simply being here with her. He could stay like this forever.


	9. Chapter 9

Two hours later, Cullen was dripping sweat and a large pile of firewood had grown around him. He'd practically chopped a whole forest. Neria had been watching him throw himself into the chore, shirtless and quite spectacular. Before the Keep, she'd never seen him in anything but his Templar armor. And the last week didn't count either, since he'd been mostly wrapped in a blanket or feverishly tossing and turning.

But now, she found it difficult to take her eyes off him. He was muscular, all the years of training had paid off. Every time he bent to chop into the wood, she could see the muscles in his arms and chest tighten, the pull of his stomach and the way the sweat glistened in the sunlight. The faint hinted v above the waist of his pants begged to be touched, she could imagine running her fingers along the perfect cut of his abdomen.

Pulling herself away from staring before he caught her, she turned back to the training dummies lined against the wall. She'd been casting, trying to get herself back to full strength. The last time she'd shared her magic with Cullen, only a few nights earlier, he'd drawn too strong and almost killed her. That was the night she'd tied him up. Neria still didn't feel up to her usual self.

He'd known she was watching. He was pretty sure he didn't mind. When he felt her magic stir again, he leaned back against the wall to watch her cast. The sweet song of her spells was off today. He'd known the feeling of Neria casting, even in his sleep. It had mapped itself in his heart, in his very being. And it wasn't right today.

He thought to say something but before the words were out, she stumbled while trying to throw a simple fireball. Cullen was across the courtyard and by her side in the blink of an eye. "Neria!" She felt his strong hands against her back along the curve of her hip as she fell into him with an altogether unladylike grunt. Her hands were trembling ever so slightly, and Cullen growled at how pale she was, more so than usual.

"I-I'm fine. Just overdid it." His chin rested against the top of her head, gaze shifting down when she inclined her own slightly. "Honest. You can let me go." The shakiness in her voice revealed the deception. Cullen wasn't buying it.

"I did this to you, didn't I?" She didn't answer, he didn't need her to. He already knew the truth. With a scowl, he scooped her unapologetically into his arms, ignoring her sudden vocal protests. She was weak and gave little fight, finally giving up completely and letting her head fall to rest against his bare shoulder.

Cullen released her only once they'd reached the room she'd been calling home for the last week. After carefully depositing her onto the bed, he flung himself angrily into the chair, glaring over at her as she tried to sit up and face him.

"How bad is it?" His glowering made it difficult to argue, and she wasn't sure she had the will or desire to fight. Staring at the far wall to avoid eye contact, she worried her lower lip for several minutes in silence before finally throwing her hands up in surrender.

"Fine. Yes I'm a little weak. Okay? I didn't have any lyrium so it's just taken a little longer to recover..that's all." Neria shot him a challenging glare.

"Why did you stay, when you knew what it was doing to you?" Cullen balled his fists, far more angry at himself than he could possibly be at her. After all, he was the only that used his Templar powers to hurt her, when she'd only been trying to help. His gaze had shifted to the floor, unable to bear her stare.

"Because I had no choice. You needed it to ease the withdrawals. It was the only way." She shrugged, it was the truth and there was no point in sugar coating it. The words garnered another angry stare from Cullen. He seemed unable to speak, just staring at her from across the room. Finally, she saw him struggle to take a long steady breath.

"So you..you let me drain your magic to ease MY suffering. Because maker knows I didn't deserve a little pain or anything. Neria...I could have killed you! Did you even consider that?" He was furious with himself and with her complete disregard for her own safety and life. For being so damn weak that the decision was placed on her in the first place.

Neria didn't respond. Instead she crept softly from the bed and found her way to him, crawling into his lap without a word. He felt her slender arms curl around his neck and turned his face inward to press it against the curve of her neck. They remained like that, silently holding one another, for what seemed like an eternity.

He could feel her cheek press gently against his forehead, feel her breath on his skin. It made his stomach turn into liquid, having her in his arms, so close he could feel her heart beating and her magic hum softly. She smelled like herbs and rain and lilacs; Cullen had never wanted anything so badly.

"I did it because you needed me. And I would do it again. Even if it killed me." Her voice was soft and sweetly whispered in his ear, making his shiver involuntarily. His jaw ticked, a hitch in his throat suddenly making it hard to breath. Maker how did he deserve someone like her?

Cullen held her, closing his eyes as he listened to her breathing slowly, steadily against him. "Neria...losing you would end me." He closed his mouth before more could come out, before a confession of his feelings could be fully realized. He didn't want this moment to end and if he blurted out something stupid, she would surely run. But when she pulled back and she smiled that enchanting smile of hers, it was his undoing. Cullen heard the words as he spoke them but seemed helpless to stop them. "I love you Neria. I've always loved

They hung in the air between them, such a small comment but so weighed with promise. She stared, eyes widened slightly, unsure what to say. She seemed to be waiting for him to take it back, to say he changed his mind. As if that was something he could ever do.

Before she found her voice or he lost his nerve, Cullen kissed her.


	10. Chapter 10

(Yeah I took way too long to update this story and complete it. I got sidetracked with a new job and SWTOR! This will be a short chapter but I'm working on finishing the Amell part this week. Thanks for the reads!)

Any words that might have been uttered were lost when his lips met hers. Replaced instead by pure bliss. She'd never been kissed like this before. That first time he'd kissed her it had been drugged desperation. Forced and unnatural, even in the midst of their growing passion. But this one, this one was fire. Ten times the heat of any dragon.

His hand was on her cheek, thumb slowly caressing along her jaw as he deepened it. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest, labored breaths between more kisses, as she wrapped her arms around his neck. His free hand slid through her hair, tangling in the short curls.

Finally her chest began to burn, not from the passion but from the lack of oxygen. She gasped and he seemed to sense her need to breath. Pulling back, he gazed at her. No words, her cheeks were flushed and her lips reddened from his kisses. For a moment, he froze, afraid she would reject him now in this moment of confession.

I love you. That is what he'd said. I always have. Always was not strong enough to express how long he'd needed her. Dreamed of her. Longed to be exactly where he was now, in her arms, still tasting her on his lips.

Why wasn't she speaking? She looked at him, silent, smiling almost. Was she laughing at him? No...this woman was not capable of that kind of cruelty. Even if she did not reciprocate, he knew she would never hurt him so by mocking him. But why wouldn't she say something?

But she never did speak, instead she leaned in and kissed him again. Gently, her lips barely brushing against his as she pressed her forehead to his in a loving gesture that broke his heart with hope. He couldn't stand it, the thought of anything but I love you too coming from those beautiful blushing red lips that left only a whisper of a kiss to his.

When she spoke, her breath was warm and intoxicating. "I love you too Cullen. My precious Templar." She smiled, that beautiful all consuming glowing smile that made him fall in love over and over every time he saw it, and that was it. He rose from the chair swiftly, still cradling her in his arms.

She laughed in surprise as he crossed the room in three quick steps, dropping down to lay above her on the bed. His kisses resumed, first claiming her mouth before moving down along her jaw to her neck. He felt her lean frame bend and arch against him as his fingers began to slowly explore every curve and every line of her body.

Slowly he began to undress her, marveling at her beauty. Every new bare bit of skin he would kiss or caress. Unable to believe this wasn't still a dream. Her soft murmurs of encouragement drove him mad, until finally he pressed her back once more onto the bed and kissed her passionately.

In the darkness of the growing night, they explored one another until the first hours of dawn. As the first rays of sun began to creep through the windows of her room, they were just finding sleep. Beneath the heavy blankets, he lay close, Neria in his arms. He could hear her breathing softly as she drifted to sleep against his chest. Nestled with her head in the bend of his neck, her cheek pressed to his shoulder.

In his last waking seconds before sleep claimed him as well, he felt a peace unlike anything he'd known. She was the part of him that made him whole. Gently brushing a strand of hair from her face, he kissed her forehead and whispered. "Mine."


End file.
